


Walk With You

by CozyRavioli



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Banter, Deceptively Soft, Drug Addiction, Falling In Love, Firewatch!AU, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Firewatch (Video Game), M/M, Meet-Cute, Not Beta Read, Phone Sex, Recovering Addict Kenny McCormick, Self-Conscious Eric Cartman, Size Difference, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyRavioli/pseuds/CozyRavioli
Summary: Struggling with overcoming his drug addiction, Kenny McCormick accepts a job offer to serve as a fire lookout deep in the Colorado forest — Seeing it as an opportunity to isolate himself from society while he recovers.What he didn’t count on was the obnoxious loudmouth who keeps flirting with him over the radio, who he finds begrudgingly charming.
Relationships: Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57





	1. ‘Hard Landing’

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to tag this as a ‘long distance relationship’ to be cheeky but I managed to restrain myself lmao
> 
> No prior knowledge of Firewatch required btw

“Fuck nature. Jesus Christ.”

Yet another branch snaps and scratches against his exposed calves as Kenny trudges his way up through the dense forestry.

Kenny has always hated wearing shorts — not an uncommon sentiment among dirt-poor rednecks who live in snowy mountain towns. He only decided to wear them here because it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

All the ‘nature-y’ people he had ever seen always wore shorts — Boy Scouts, forest rangers, The Crocodile Hunter, Smokey the Bear…fucking Banjo & Kazooie or whatever. They all wear shorts, but that’s dumb because evidently it fucking HURTS to wear shorts in the forest.

‘Should’ve worn jeans…or maybe chainmail, fuck me. I ought to just let the stupid trees burn down.’ Kenny muses, pulling a few more stray splinters out of his exposed, knobby knee.

He finally reaches the crest of the hill and bends over to rest his hands on his hips while he catches his breath. His wheezy, wheezy breath.

Shit, he’s really out of shape. Granted, most junkies are, but he had no idea it had gotten this bad until he’d started the hike up this god-forsaken trail.

After regaining his composure, he looks up and spots the lookout tower about a quarter of a mile away, silhouetted against the setting sun.

Kenny breaths a sigh of relief.

“Finally.”

*******

Kenny vaults over a fallen log and approaches the base of the tower.

Firewatch.

His childhood friend, Stan Marsh, had brought the job position to his attention several weeks back.

Stan works as a firefighter back in their hometown of South Park. Like Kenny, Stan never attended college and spent his first few years post-highschool loafing around, smoking weed and jumping from dead-end job to dead-end job before finally ending up at the fire station.

Colorado is one of the more heavily forested states, and as such Stan had dealt with many surrounding forest fires and gotten acquainted with some folks in the Forest Service.

When Kenny shambled over to his best friend’s house one day, scratching at the track marks on his forearm, blubbering and crying that he had to get out of South Park before it killed him; Stan had pulled some strings and gotten him this gig.

He was beyond grateful for the opportunity and took it extremely seriously. Kenny aced the training sessions and had reread the manual dozens of times.

It’d be one thing if Kenny fucked up his own life even more, but Stan stuck his neck out for him and he doesn’t want to take that for granted.

Despite how anxious he is about messing up, it all sounds easy enough to him. He just needs to stay up in the watchtower, keep an eye out for smoke coming from any potential wildfires starting in the area and jot down some weather readings to report his findings.

He’s just glad that he gets to escape everything for two and a half months. There’s no internet connection out here. No cell reception. No cars. No noise.

Nowhere to buy heroin.

Kenny stamps down any thoughts concerning his addiction before he works himself up, and begins climbing the spiral staircase up the lookout tower.

Once he reaches the top he takes a deep breath of the fresh forest air and scans the horizon. Hell of a view.

Kenny unlocks the door to the tower and sets his backpack down inside. The room is a bit spartan, but he wasn’t expecting a five star hotel.

Growing up the way he did, even a heap like this is a huge improvement to the ‘home’ he was raised in. Besides, it’ll be more cozy once he’s unpacked some of his stuff.

He steps around the fire-finder in the middle of the room and approaches the cot in the corner. There are some suspicious stains on its surface, but Kenny feels the beginnings of a withdrawal headache stirring up so he just flops down onto it, face first.

His aching muscles start to relax after a moment or two and he realizes how disgustingly sweaty his clothes are, which bothers him just enough to make him stand back up for a quick change. 

Kenny peels his soaked shirt off and moves to pull his raggedy shorts down as well.

“Holy shit. You’re emaciated, dude. Did you run here all the way from Auschwitz?”

Kenny yelps and drops to the ground, wide cornflower blue eyes scanning wildly around the small room for the source of the voice… but he can’t see anybody.

He springs to his feet and blindly grabs the nearest object within reach to defend himself. “Who—Where are you?! I’ll kill you, man!”

Crackling laughter sounds behind him and Kenny spins around to find…a walkie talkie docked in a charge port.

“I surrender, Captain Underpants. Please, put down the thermos,” the walkie replies.

Kenny realizes he’s currently brandishing his coffee thermos like a club and his cheeks flush slightly as he sets it back down on his desk.

He then remembers that he is still shirtless and ducks down next to his cot to quickly pull on a jumper. It’s his favourite one too, there’s only one hole in the armpit. “How—How can you see me? Do you have cameras set up in here, you psycho?”

“Uh, no? This isn’t Big Brother. I’m your neighbour. Look out your fucking window, genius.”

Kenny frantically looks around the surrounding forest, but he can’t see anybody. “This whole tower is windows, asshole. Could you be a bit more specific?”

“Should be, like, south-west of you. What are you so angry for? Geez,” Radio-Man groans.

Kenny fumbles with his compass, and looks out the back of his tower to see a similar structure on the horizon, about ten miles away if he had to guess.

“Why am I angry? Not even five minutes into the job and you’re already creeping on me and watching me change, dickweed,” Kenny growls back into the walkie.

“Oh, come on! How is that my fault? I was watching your tower so I could greet the noobie, but I didn’t even get a chance to say hello! The minute you got here you immediately started stripping, you—you wanton hussy! I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!”

Kenny feels a very confusing mixture of frustration and amusement and isn’t sure how he’s meant to respond to this shit. Instead, he opts to just slam the walkie back into the charger and close the blinds so his new co-worker can’t see inside his tower anymore.

To keep himself busy, Kenny begins to unpack all of his things. Thirty seconds pass before the man speaks over the radio again.

“I didn’t mean to kink-shame you, sweet-pea. I don’t think less of you for being an exhibitionist.”

Kenny feels himself start to grin a bit, but he isn’t letting the guy off the hook that easy, so he continues to give the disembodied voice the cold shoulder.

“C’mon, babe. You know I hate it when we go to bed angry.”

Kenny snorts and hopes the radio doesn’t pick the noise up.

“I know we only met ninety-three seconds ago, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, y’know? Remember all those good times we had? Like that one time you threatened me with your tupperware? Or that other time I accidentally saw your nipples and was really, really sorry about it?” the radio pleads.

Kenny slips his fingers through the blinds so he can peer through at the other tower in the distance. He tries using his binoculars so that he can see the other man, but the magnification is nowhere near strong enough to actually see inside the lookout.

“...The silent treatment is cute and all, but I’m the only other human being you can have any conversations with for the foreseeable future, so unless you want to get cabin fever and go all Jack Torrance on me, we should really—“

Kenny picks up the radio and cuts the other man off. “How can you see in here? I’m using binoculars and I can’t see in yours. If I find out there are actually cameras in here I am going to—“

“Chill out, you neurotic twink! I can see in your tower because I have a telescope. Because I like looking at the friggin’ STARS, okay? It gets real boring out here if you don’t get some hobbies other than jerking off constantly…My record is twelve times in one day, by the by.”

Kenny opens the blinds back up and flips off the other man through the window. He knows the guy sees it because he hears a soft chuckle through the walkie.

“Don’t call me a twink, dickhead! I’m lithe! Svelte, even! And why the hell do you get a telescope? I don’t have a telescope!” Kenny would sure like a telescope. What the fuck? His tower sucks compared to this guys set-up!

“I brought it from home. Don’t blame me for having the foresight to bring stuff to entertain myse—” There’s a short pause from the other end of the call. “What the hell did you bring with you? One bag? Bold choice. Minimalist.”

It feels strange to talk shit to an empty window, but Kenny does it regardless. “I guess the UPS truck bringing me my eighty-inch flatscreen and jacuzzi got lost on its way up the mountain. Fuck me, right?” 

“I’m just saying, man. Gonna get awfully boring for you over there with nothing to do. Might want to consider taking up whittling, or meditation or something. Hey, maybe yoga?”

Kenny snorts and folds his arms against his chest. “If that’s your roundabout way of getting me to bend over for you, you might be touched in the head. Like, a growth on your brain or somethin.’”

“The only growth on me is in my pants, Blondie.”

“Christ, I can tell you’re going to be a problem. Look, I’m tired and you’re giving me a goddamned migraine. I’m going to sleep now, so knock it off with the phone sex, creeper.” Kenny forcefully shuts the blinds once more and sets his walkie at his bedside before climbing back into the cot.

Just when he gets comfortable under the blankets, the radio chirps again. “Uhh, Cartman, by the way. Nice to kinda-sorta meet you.”

Hmm. Cartman. The name suits him for some reason.

In lieu of a proper response Kenny merely grumbles “Kenny” into his pillow, not particularly caring whether or not his pervert co-worker heard him.

The tower is blissfully silent for thirty seconds.

“So…you sleep naked, Kenny?”

Kenny throws the radio across the room.

*******

When Kenny wakes up in the morning he forgets where he is for a moment. After being crammed tightly in the low-income neighbourhood with the rest of the trailer-trash growing up, it’s surreal to be out in the middle of nowhere with no other company for miles in any direction.

Well, except for one other guy. One man who doesn’t know how to keep his fucking mouth shut when people are trying to sleep.

Kenny glares at the neighbouring tower in the distance and hopes that he has somehow telepathically communicated his spite to Cartman. Kenny has never met anyone so abrasive in his life, and there were plenty of contenders back in South Park.

What was with all the flirting, anyway? And right from the moment he saw him, no less? Kenny would bet good money that those jokes would stop real quick if Cartman knew that Kenny was actually bisexual.

That’s the way it always goes. Straight guys are more than happy to mess around, playing grab-ass and joking about blowing each other. But when you let them know that you actually are fond of cock, all of a sudden you aren’t getting invited out for beers anymore.

It’s whatever. Kenny learned not to care about that stuff a long time ago.

Hell, it’d be almost impossible to live as a drug addict if you cared what other people thought of you. The shame would probably kill you faster than the drugs could.

But Kenny is getting better. He is. He’ll force himself to be better, if he has to. If the only way he can manage to kick the habit is to isolate himself in the forest and quit cold turkey, then that’s what he’ll do.

Rehab would probably work way better, but Kenny can hardly afford breakfast most days, let alone rehab.

Kenny sighs and goes about his morning duties.

He has a little bit of trouble with the weather readings, so he brings out his phone to speed things along. It’s just a shitty old thing that he bought for dirt cheap off Craigslist.

He’s pretty sure it ‘fell off the back of a truck,’ and it doesn’t even have any minutes on it. Not that it’d matter out here anyway, what with the lack of service and all.

Kenny had downloaded several handy apps to help him out during his time with the Watch, prior to leaving South Park. So, his phone should still prove to be a useful investment, even without an internet connection.

Plus…he may have downloaded some games.

And porn.

Gay porn, because Kenny is gay and downloading gay porn using the public library’s wi-fi felt like an appropriate ‘fuck you’ before leaving South Park, hopefully forever.

But Kenny probably shouldn’t be thinking about his ‘HUNG bear OBLITERATES virgin CUMSLUT CUMPILATION [HE CRIES!!!]’ playlist while he still has work to do.

While Kenny writes out his daily report in his weather journal, he decides to play some music on his cell.

Kenny presses the shuffle button on the music app and the infamous intro to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!’ blares through the phones speaker.  
“Hahaha! No fucking way, dude! Are you seriously listening to ABBA right now, you friggin’ fairy?! Hahaha!”

Kenny sighs, pulling the walkie-talkie over to respond and mourning the loss of his peace and quiet.

“What’s wrong with ABBA? It’s a classic,” Kenny pouts, feeling the need to defend himself.

The oaf on the other end of the call has the audacity to sound baffled, despite his obnoxious outburst. “What? I never said there was anything wrong with it.”

“...You called me a fairy, dude.

“It’s 2020. Everyone’s at least a little bit gay. Besides, ABBA does bang. I was just busting your balls, man. Lighten up.” And somehow, Kenny can tell that Cartman is waving his hand dismissively as he says this.

Some guys just have expressive voices like that.

Kenny rolls his eyes and moves over to the small kitchenette in the corner to brew himself some coffee.

“Yeah, whatever. Good morning to you too, Brokeback Mountain…Are you going to leave me alone long enough to actually get some work done? Or are you just gonna talk dirty to me all day?”

There’s a pause on the other end and Kenny is briefly worried that his tentative reciprocation of Cartman’s flirting may have put the man off.

“…Why? Can’t you multitask?”

This time, Kenny doesn’t bother hiding his tiny huff of laughter.

At least with Cartman around, Kenny won’t have to worry about being bored during his stay here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is linking music in the end notes of your fan fiction super corny?
> 
> You bet it is! Which is why I’ll be doing it in every single chapter!
> 
> If you don’t like it, I’ll kiss you on the lips and I am NOT an attractive man. So, watch yourself.
> 
> https://youtu.be/7y72oojppQg


	2. ‘A Hook on the Car Door’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very brief animal death. Also, it’s not actually killed in the chapter — only found.

“God, you’re such a hipster.”

Kenny scoffs at Cartman’s remark, pinching his radio between his ear and his shoulder as he uses his hands to hold up his map of the area.

Eight days have passed following their rocky introduction, and the two have since developed a more companionable rapport with one another — even though they still mostly just talk shit all day.

“It’s not like that,” Kenny insists. “I like plenty of mainstream shit, like Star Wars and stuff. I’m just saying; horror movies specifically benefit from being less well-known than others.”

Cartman had mentioned that he’d be posted up in his tower all day today, and recommended that Kenny use the opportunity to explore his surroundings some more while Cartman held down the fort. It had only taken them fifteen minutes before they started arguing again.

“How does that make any sense? If a movie is good, people will talk about it. If a movie isn’t being talked about, chances are it’s some weird arthouse indie garbage,” Cartman replies.

Kenny notes that his supervisor seems to have a hard opinion on everything. No matter what you chat about with the guy, he either loves it or despises it and he’ll talk your ear off for hours trying to convince you to agree with him.

It’s endearing, in a childish way.

“It’s because when you watch a really obscure horror movie, it makes it feel more personal, y’know? Like, you could bring up ‘Scream’ or ‘Halloween’ and almost everyone will recognize those stories — Whereas, if you watched some random unknown movie, nobody knows what the fuck you’re talking about. It almost makes it feel as if it was all something you went through personally.”

Cartman makes a contemplative noise over the radio. “Any examples?”

Kenny takes a moment to think on that as he clambers up a waist-high boulder blocking his passage.

After standing up and brushing his knees off, he flicks the walkie-talkie back on. “Found this movie called ‘Pin’ in the discount VHS bucket at Blockbuster when I was a kid — some Canadian indie flick from the eighties.

It was pretty spooky in its own right, I suppose. But what really made it freaky was that I couldn’t find any more info on it at the time. It added mystique, I guess — enhanced the experience.”

“What was it about?” Cartman asks. A rhythmic thumping can be heard in the background of his lookout, which means that he’s likely bouncing a tennis ball against the wall, as he’s wont to do during their little talks.

“The guy in the movie was schizo or something; his father was a doctor and he got it in his head that his dad’s medical dummy was alive and that they were best buds. You can probably guess how the rest goes,” Kenny shrugs out of habit, feeling a bit silly since he’s all alone out here.

“Sounds boring.”

“You think everything that isn’t a Marvel movie is boring, you fucking troglodyte,” Kenny snarks, maybe a bit too fondly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize I was talking to a goddamn film critic! Why don’t you go jerk off to Wes Anderson while the rest of us peasants watch ‘Terrance & Phillip: Asses of Fire’; a TRUE thinking man’s film!”

“Don’t you go assuming things about me! It just so happens that I love Terrance & Phillip.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

A series of rustling sounds are heard over the radio. Kenny frowns, about to ask what’s going on when an obscenely loud farting noise blasts through his speaker.

Kenny flinches and drops the walkie. Cursing loudly, he bends over to pick it back up and hears Cartman cackling like a banshee on the other end.

“C’mon, Kenny! You just said you liked fart jokes, so what’s the matter?” Cartman’s voice is oddly muted and Kenny fears that his radio might be broken.

“Very funny, dick. You made me drop my walkie! I can barely hear you, I think it’s busted,” Kenny frowns, shaking the radio up and down like an aerosol can.

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m just standing really far away from the mic. I’m not holding that thing next to my face, it stinks,” Cartman takes a steadying breath, his laughing fit finally dying down.

“…Did you actually fart into your radio? Why not just make the noise with your mouth?”

“…I…hadn’t thought of that.”

Kenny snorts. “You’re a fucking moron, man. I hope you shit your pants.”

Just as he pushes his way through some shrubbery, a strong metallic scent hits Kenny’s nostrils, catching him off guard and making him recoil, gagging.

“It wasn’t THAT gross. Don’t overreact, you baby,” Cartman scoffs.

“N-No, it’s not that. Something fucking stinks over here, I think—“ Kenny investigates the source of the smell and finds the toppled over form of a moose, with some of its innards spilled out of its abdomen. “Oh, Christ. There’s a—! I found a fuckin’ dead moose over here, man!”

“Oh. Uh…So what?”

Kenny lets out an embarrassing squawk of disbelief as he pulls his shirt collar up over his nose.

“So what?! So, it’s nasty, man! What the hell did this?”

“There’s all kind of shit up in these mountains, Ken — black bears and coyotes and stuff. Hell, you knew that when you took the job! I don’t get why you’re so bent out of shape over this…” Cartman sighs, but Kenny does pick up a small hint of concern in his tone, which makes him cool off a smidge.

A small wave of morbid curiosity rushes through Kenny, and he takes another glance at the creature from a safe distance.

“It just—It doesn’t make sense, is all…Why would something gut the poor guy and then ditch without even taking a bite out of him?” Despite his best efforts, and knowing it’s a ridiculous leap in logic, Kenny gulps. “You don’t think it was maybe, like—a person? Some sicko camping out here?”

“…I think you’ve seen one too many horror movies, dude.”

Cartman’s patronizing tone makes Kenny bristle, but he refuses to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him.

After a moment of tense silence, Cartman sighs and continues speaking. “Look, for my money, the moose was chased down and got swiped by a mountain lion. When the cat went to chow down on him it probably got spooked by some loud noise and bolted. I’d bet you anything that if you come back tomorrow, it’ll have come back to drag it off somewhere.”

Cartman’s uncharacteristically soft reassurances do help Kenny calm down, yet he remains somewhat shaken by the whole ordeal.

“…But—“

“But nothing. Just remember your training. Nothing in these woods will mess with you so long as you stick to the trails for the most part.”

“…Right. Yeah, no. Of course. Sorry.”

Kenny can’t help but feel a bit ashamed by his reaction. His old man had tried to take him hunting as a kid, but he had never taken to it. He’d even gone so far as to lie and miss a clear shot he had on a buck on purpose.

Despite his rough upbringing, he’s just never been ‘violently inclined’ or whatever.

And now here he is — a grown ass man having to be comforted by his ‘sort-of friend’ because he saw a bit of viscera.

The shame hits him harder than it probably ought to and Kenny feels a sudden, familiar urge to fetch some rubber tubing and syringes to help him forget himself, if only for a few hours.

“—hear me?”

Kenny snaps out of his spiralling thoughts upon realizing that Cartman had been speaking to him. “Uh, sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“I said, maybe that moose is there because Bullwinkle finally went too far and Rocky had to dispose of the body.”

This startles a genuine laugh out of Kenny. Maybe it’s because of the abrupt change in mood from his previously dark thoughts, but something about that stupid joke hits different and Kenny soon finds himself doubled over, wheezing and giggling.

Cartman sounds inordinately pleased with Kenny’s reaction when he continues. “Maybe you should just call it a day anyways. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” Kenny wipes away the stray tears from his eyes, feeling much better than he had moments ago. “I’m gonna head back now, talk to you in a bit.”

“Sure,” Cartman replies.

The walkie turns off with a quiet chirp as Kenny takes one last lingering glance at the bloodied animal.

He finds something achingly familiar in the beady, black lifeless eyes of the creature staring back at him, and Kenny feels a brief kinship with the fallen beast. He hopes it hadn’t suffered too much in the end, but that’s probably wishful thinking.

Kenny quickly marches his way back up the trail as night falls, and does his best not to imagine talking medical dummies and escaped, knife wielding mental patients prowling just behind him.

He can only hope that the tingling feeling on the back of his neck is being brought on by his own paranoia, and not from unwelcome things trailing their eyes across his body, from deep within the trees.

*******

No matter how humid it may get during the day, without fail it’s always freezing at night, especially up in the lookout tower.

Kenny had decided to brave the cold just this once, as he’s currently seated in a folding lawn-chair on the outside balcony, with his feet kicked up on a handrail.

Once he’d gotten back from his unpleasant encounter out in the woods, he’d still been a bit jumpy, so he had decided to lounge outside and have a few smokes to help decompress.

The stars are out in full force, packed densely against the night sky. As he exhales a puff of smoke, Kenny wishes for the umpteenth time that he had a telescope like Cartman did.

That train of thought makes Kenny consider something else. Frowning, he gazes over at Cartman’s tower and clicks his walkie back on.

“Hey, am I looking at you right now?”

“Huh?” Cartman waits a beat to respond, having been taken off guard.

Kenny pointedly scans his eyes across Cartman’s tower windows. “You’re always zoomed in on me when we talk, yeah? Am I making eye contact with you right now?”

“Oh...Uh, no. You—You’d have to look a little to the left,” Cartman mutters, and oh, is it ever gratifying to hear Cartman sounding bashful for once.

Having turned his head slightly, Kenny asks again. “How about now? Am I lookin’ atcha?”

“…Yeah.”

“Good,” Kenny winks, and Cartman sputters, fumbling with his radio.

“What does it matter? S’not like you can see me, anyway…”

“I dunno, it seems impolite not to look at someone when you’re talking with them, even if they might be ten miles away,” Kenny shrugs, pulling at his oversized jacket to fend off the chill.

The action seems to draw Cartman’s attention, because he snorts. “Who’d you steal that from, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“That letterman jacket. You’re practically drowning in it and I have a hard time picturing your scrawny ass on any sports team. So, what gives? Were you the water-boy?”

Kenny feels conflicted about how to answer that.

He and Cartman have kept up their playful ‘no-homo’ brand of flirting for some time now, but Kenny has yet to properly come out to the jerk.

Still, Kenny’s never been the type to hide that part of himself. He never goes out of his way to bring up his sexuality, but when it comes up naturally in conversation he’s never shied away from the subject.

And he reckons he has no reason to start now. If Cartman has a problem with it, well, best to rip the band-aid off before Kenny gets attached.

“Stole it from the football captain — my ex-boyfriend, Clyde, back in senior year. When we broke up I never returned it to him because I’m a petty cunt and I can’t afford nice clothes.”

Without missing a beat, Cartman drawls. “You dated the fucking football captain. God, you really are a walking cliché.”

“Blow me,” Kenny grins, relieved that Cartman didn’t make things weird.

Honestly, Kenny has never met anyone who was simultaneously so offensive, yet so accepting at the same time. It’s as if Mr Rogers and George Carlin coparented a child and Cartman was the result.

Five more minutes pass in easy silence, and Kenny can hear the faint scratching of Cartman writing on something over the static of the radio.

Kenny stands up and leans on top of the hand-railing, blowing an exasperated raspberry. “I’m fuckin’ dying of boredom over here...Entertain me, Adolf!”

“I’m busy. If you’re bored, go to bed. I’m not your nanny, Macaulay Culkin,” Cartman continues scribbling, much to Kenny’s displeasure.

Drumming his fingertips along the floodlight attached to the railing, Kenny is struck with inspiration.

“Hey, look over here!”

“I told you, I’m busy. Knock it off, Home Alone,” Cartman sighs.

“C’mon, please?” And it doesn’t matter whether you’re gay, straight, male or female — Kenny knows that his puppy-eyes are lethal weapons.

“…Fine. What is it?” Cartman grumbles. Works every time.

Kenny fist-pumps and goes about aiming the floodlight so that it’s illuminating the wall of the tiny shed next to his tower, which houses the generator and spare supplies.

“See where I’m pointing my light?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your telescope pointed at that wall! No peaking back up at me!”

“…Alright, alright. I’m looking,” Cartman says, and he sounds at least a little intrigued now.

Kenny places his hands in front of the beam of light and meshes them together until the shadow he casts on the shed vaguely resembles a camel’s head.

“Can you tell what that is?” Kenny asks, tongue sticking out as he tries to get the shape exactly right.

“Oh, fuck off! There’s no way I’m playing shadow puppets with you!”

Kenny can’t help feeling genuinely disappointed. Him and his kid sister, Karen, used to play shadow puppets all the time when they were younger. A tradition born from spending dark nights together, when the electricity was cut and they only had flashlights for toys.

He slumps back into his chair, feeling dejected, until Cartman yells back at him over the walkie.

“JESUS, FINE — We’ll play your stupid game! Just…quit looking like a kicked golden retriever…God, this is so lame.”

Kenny beams and hops back up to continue his little impromptu show.

Despite his initial bitching, Cartman’s competitive streak kicks in and he starts taking the game far more seriously after the first couple of rounds.

This goes on for twenty more minutes before Kenny’s hands start to cramp. “I think I’m done for tonight, my fingers are killing me,” Kenny says, shaking out his wrists.

“What?! No! One more! You can’t quit when I only need to get one more right to tie things up!” Cartman sounds desperate, and Kenny feels vindicated.

“I thought it was just a stupid kids game?”

“It—It is! I just don’t want you to win, pussy.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, but obliges. “One more. So make it count.”

He starts squeezing and twisting his hands into the shape of a squirrel but pauses in his movements when another idea flashes through his mind.

Oh, it’s risky. But, shit, it’d be funny if he could pull it off.

Really, the whole thing’ll be ruined if Cartman takes his eyes off the shed. In the end, Kenny decides it’s worth the risk.

“Remember, you’re not allowed to look back at me! If you cheat, I’ll be able to tell, so don’t even think about it!”

Cartman clicks his tongue against his teeth, petulant as ever. “I don’t need to cheat. This shit’s easy. Now get on with it so that I can beat you.”

Despite having already psyched himself up, Kenny’s cheeks flush as he discreetly unzips his jeans and pulls his soft cock out through his fly. Maybe Cartman was right about him being an exhibitionist.

Standing just so in front of the floodlight, Kenny places his hands out in front of his dick while he crafts his masterpiece.

Satisfied with his work, Kenny leans back to peer down at the shed and almost cracks up when he sees how perfect it looks.

He has cast an almost flawless rendition of the silhouette of an elephant, using only his hands and his dick.

He’s like the Vincent van Gogh of hanging dong.

“Are you serious, dude? This is how you thought you were going to beat me? That’s clearly an elephant,” Cartman boasts, smug.

“Yeah, guess I was no match for you…but hey, not a bad elephant, right?” Kenny asks, barely biting back the snickers that are threatening to burst out of him as he tucks himself back into his pants.

“Huh? Oh, it was alright, I guess. You must have some freakishly long fingers to make a trunk that big though. Were you born in Chernobyl or something?”

Kenny can’t hold it in anymore. He laughs, open and belly-aching until he’s clutching at his ribs.

“What’s so funny, asshole?” Cartman sounds so offended, which only makes Kenny laugh harder.

“I’m glad you were impressed with the trunk, ‘cause I made it with my dick, you raging queer!” Kenny wheezes. “Never took you for a size queen, Cartman.”

For five glorious seconds, Cartman sputters, floundering to think up a comeback.

Apparently, Cartman gives up because Kenny hears a quick chirp as his radio shuts off.

In the distance, Cartman’s tower lights turn off immediately afterwards, a clear sign of his surrender.

Not only did Kenny shut Cartman up for once — he made the guy so shy that he went to bed early. A crowning achievement for sure.

Man, Cartman is fun to mess with. Kenny will always consider Stan his closest friend but Cartman is very quickly becoming…something to him. 

Still chuckling quietly to himself, Kenny leans back against the tower wall and tilts his head up to smile at the moon.

There’s a curious sensation welling up deep inside him, almost unnoticeable — an alien spark, barely there and flickering, which he can’t quite put a name to.

Maybe for now he doesn’t need to.

But he welcomes the warmth it provides, regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s track: https://youtu.be/JgumMOMHpns
> 
> Trailer for ‘Pin’, for anyone who was curious: https://youtu.be/5s3GkBbQJqc


End file.
